


Awakening

by xxELF21xx



Series: Breath of the Wild [1]
Category: B-PROJECT 鼓動＊アンビシャス | B-PROJECT: Kodou Ambitious
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild, Gen, yes this is a whole expanded au now you can't stop me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-05
Updated: 2019-11-05
Packaged: 2021-01-23 12:35:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,204
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21320290
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xxELF21xx/pseuds/xxELF21xx
Summary: He’s missing something. Something he knows is important.
Series: Breath of the Wild [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1537003
Comments: 2
Kudos: 2





	Awakening

**Author's Note:**

> hi yes im back on my bullshit

_ Open your eyes… _

The world around him is cold, sticking to him in a ghostly endearing hug. Chills crawl up his back, while his front feels the warmth buzzing by.

_ Ryuji…  _ A disembodied voice calls, gentle and patient. It sparks a fuzziness in him, ridding him of the heat difference. Instinctively, he tips his head up, as if he would find something -- someone -- looking down at him with a twinkle in its eyes. 

_ Ryuji… wake up… _ There it is again, caressing his ears in a tune; so familiar yet misplaced.  _ Wake up,  _ it pleads, almost desperate and close to tears. 

Not wanting to disappoint -- something awful, a feeling he’s not sure how to describe, snakes around his torso at the  _ thought  _ of disappointing it, he uses what strength he has to open his eyes. 

Blinking, he stares at the cracks in the ceiling, feeling the dampness under his palms a strange comfort. Looking left to right, he tries to make a connection with where he might be. The walls are all around him, surrounding him in a protective bubble -- a cave, perhaps? 

The bed beneath him sinks, leaving his back against a hard, slick surface. He doesn’t like that.

Huffing, he swiftly sits up, startled to find himself bare of any… clothes. A flush runs up his neck, a need to cover himself up before…. before it can see the bloodied scars and pinking skin that is himself. 

What was he trying to shield beneath layers of cloth?

The pool he rests in hardly gives a splash as he struggles to get off, muscles too relaxed to properly coordinate with his thoughts. He almost tumbles to the ground, weirdly smooth and warm under his feet, when he finally manages to maneuver himself off the… altar? 

_ Hurry,  _ his lips move, but nothing comes out of his throat. Why must he hurry? Can he not talk? There’s a painful lump sitting at the base of his neck, scratchy and inhibiting his task of learning about his body. 

Faintly, the blues in his cave glows, as if joyous that he’s finally awoken. 

Numbness seizes his curiosity when he realises he doesn’t know who he is, or  _ what  _ he is. What was he doing here? Looking around the room, the icy feeling spreads as smooth cave walls close in. Just as he’s about to succumb to…. nothingness, an irradiated blue calls out to him. 

Something stirs inside of him, when he reaches the pedestal. An eye, sore and jabbing, stares at him. 

He’s missing something. Something he knows is important. 

Though he knows nothing of what’s happening, it doesn’t surprise him in the least when the stone turns and a rectangular slab rises from its tomb.

_ That is a Sheikah Slate.  _ The voice rings, echoing in his head. He flinches, who are you? He asks.  _ Take it, it will guide you after your long slumber.  _ Instead of replying, the voice completely ignores him. 

Without missing a beat, he follows its orders. Something tells him that this passive behaviour of his isn’t correct, that he should have a more negative reaction to being brushed off. But there is hardly any reason to, when his body accepts the words as if it’s all that he needs to breathe.

As soon as he takes a proper look at it, the thing beeps. He doesn’t as much as wince at the sound, before inspecting it once again. That’s not normal, either, he thinks.

The stone turns again, a mechanism flipping itself back, shrinking into the pedestal as if that’s all it was supposed to be, while a toothy door rises up in waves, granting him a sort of escape. Hesitant, he ventures towards it. 

Absently, his grip on the Slate tightens as he fumbles out with unsteady feet. Two chests stand in his way, rusted and mossy. Their locks are undone, like someone had opened it for… him? 

He sinks onto his knees, cautiously lifting a chest’s cover up, slightly disappointed to find a pair of well-worn trousers instead of.... a weapon? There’s holes in his head, something’s wrong with him. Why is he thinking of weapons? 

The other chest provides him an old shirt. He puts them on slowly, working through every muscle he has to remember himself again.

He doesn’t remember anything. 

Moving forward, he slips onto a tiny puddle, sending him tumbling down the slope. Before he could even react, he performs a flip, body suddenly agile and strong, landing perfectly, lightly, onto his feet. Staring at his red hand, he tries to add up the little pieces he has of himself. 

The Slate in his other hand tingles, forcing him to forgo his thoughts for an irksome golden pedestal that’s glaring at him to go closer. 

And go closer he does. 

A ring of molten gold surrounds an eye, matching with the one on his Slate.  _ Hold the Sheikah Slate up to the pedestal.  _ The voice guides,  _ that will show you the way.  _

He asks, once again, who it is. But it remains quiet in his head, lingering almost painfully as a gasp in the air.

Again, he does as he’s told, taking a glance at the Slate before hovering it over the blue centre. A spark is formed in the space between the pedestal and the Slate, and the ring turns into a calm blue.

_ Authenticating,  _ the pedestal’s gears turn, clinking softly in the ever-growing noise that is his head.  _ Sheikah Slate confirmed,  _ the eye on the wall glows blue, before groaning from misuse and opening up to reveal a great beam of light. 

He walks closer towards it, feeling the sun’s warmth on his skin and the burn on his eyes. A sweet breeze brushes his hair softly, reminiscent of something he can’t remember. 

He’s had quite enough of not remembering.

_ Ryuji…  _ The voice breathes, in pure, elated joy -- though the tone remains the same, calm --  _ you are the light -- our light -- that must shine upon Hyrule once again.  _ Something in him aches, wanting to soothe the plea with assurance.  _ Now go… _

There is more it wants to say, but the voice fades out almost immediately, causing a minor frantic. No, he almost cowers, don’t go. Please. 

He’s alone, in this cave of earth and blue. 

The voice… he needs to find it. He needs to go back to-- 

**He can’t remember where he’s supposed to go back to. **

Although he would much rather dwell on his plight, he picks himself up and marches on. Walking up a short flight of stairs, a wall blocks his freedom. And once more, his body reacts faster than his mind can comprehend, running with a burst of speed he hadn’t thought he had, scaling the wall with comparable ease, pitching forward into a dash as the sounds of chirping and rustling wind awakens a need to  _ leave.  _

Sprinting forward -- and stopping just time for his toes to come in contact with a cliff’s edge -- he sees the world in all its glory, rich greens and slight greys. A volcano cries bright orange, with the vast blue skies above him and pale lilac flowers next to him. 

Ryuji takes a breath, ready to take on Hyrule to find that voice.

**Author's Note:**

> me: u cant write more botw bpro  
also me: link!ryuji is rad


End file.
